


Of Wonders Wild and New

by Oshun



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:19:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1987800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshun/pseuds/Oshun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of Galadriel and Lúthien in Doriath, early First Age. Written for International Day of Femslash 2014. Many thanks to Ignoble Bard for the rush Beta of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Wonders Wild and New

Anon, to sudden silence won,  
In fancy they pursue  
The dream-child moving through a land  
Of wonders wild and new,  
In friendly chat with bird or beast—  
And half believe it true. –Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_  
  
Galadriel had hidden her secrets so deeply beneath her habitual gracious smiles and looks of rapt attention at the Court of Menegroth that she had almost forgotten them herself. Only to find them pop up again at the most inconvenient moments.  
  
Melian seemed incurious to her, abstract, distant, and dreamy. So typical of the Maiar of Lórien, except when she wanted an answer to a specific question. The problem with the lady’s method was if she were ever to discover what Galadriel was guarding, she would have to formulate the right query. At least that was how it seemed to Galadriel at the time.  
  
Now Lúthien was another matter entirely. She was curious about everything, but even more unfocused. That afternoon, Lúthien flounced in to interrupt her, while she was studying a scrying stone that Melian had thought she might find of interest. It was luminescent and concave but seemed as inert as any lump of dirt.  
  
“It needs water,” Lúthien said with a dismissive bluntness, as though talking to a slow child.  
  
And Galadriel felt every bit as dull-witted and more so than the girl’s harsh reckoning of her. “Water?” she said, not bothering to hide her lack of comprehension.  
  
“Here, silly!” Lúthien grabbed a pitcher and poured a little into the depression in the stone, no bigger than the palm of the hand of a grown man. “There!” she said, triumphant. “What do you see now?”  
  
“Nothing . . . “ Galadriel began, “. . . ah, wait! I see the creek at the bottom of the meadow beyond the entrance into the main hall.”  
  
Lúthien craned her head to look around Galadriel’s shoulder. “Keep looking. Keep looking. Listen for the sounds of the water, the birds, and the wind in the trees.”  
  
Just then there was a huge splash in the dreamscape water and Celeborn, shaking water off his silver head like a dog, rose to his feet. His shapely buttocks, pretty as any woman’s, rosy and dewy as two ripe peaches, almost filled the borders of the vision within the stone.  
  
“There you go! Your reward for patience: a good look at my cousin. You find him attractive, don’t you?”  
  
“Humph!” Galadriel said, annoyed at being exposed. “Who wouldn’t?”  
  
“Perhaps a younger cousin who’s been looking at him all of her life?” Lúthien said, shrugging, before sharing an impudent smile with Galadriel, filled with mischief and humor, who involuntarily responded in kind. Maybe she could learn to like Lúthien.  
  
Galadriel noticed with surprise that Lúthien possessed a Maiarin magic of some sort that allowed her to see into a person’s heart. She had been careful to show no signs of interest in Thingol’s nephew, Doriath’s silver prince. This uncanny recognition of her feelings by Lúthien was not a form of mind reading with which Galadriel was familiar. It went beyond mere reading of thoughts formulated into words, what she called _sanwe-latya_ and Melian had told her the Sindar called _ósanwe_ _-kenta_. This was looking deep into another’s desires, one’s half-conscious, unacknowledged longings.  
  
“Let’s go swimming in the creek--just you and me.” Lúthien said. “They’ll be gone by the time we get there.”  
  
“They?” Galadriel asked. She studied Lúthien, still intrigued by seeing her for the first time as more than a nuisance. Always before, she had thought of her as nothing more than the spoiled only child of Thingol and Melian. It had been hard to like this young woman, after being told that she was universally recognized as the most beautiful princess in all of Arda. Used to being considered striking in Valinor, Galadriel had no desire to be compared with this pretty example of Dark-elven royalty and to come up wanting. It had not helped that Lúthien had taken a childish pleasure in knowing that her constant interruptions annoyed Galadriel, most likely the first real competition she had ever had for the attention of her mother.  
  
“Who is bathing at the stream now?" she asked again.  
  
“Celeborn, Daeron, and your brother Findaráto, of course. But we’ll have the water to ourselves shortly. You don’t want to appear to be following _him_ around.”  
  
“I haven’t been following _him_ around, if you mean Lord Celeborn. If anything, he has been trailing after me.”  
  
“Oh, he is certainly besotted with you. But I know your type well, Lady Artanis! You will lead him a merry chase before you allow him to know that his interest is returned.” She laughted and blew on the water causing Celeborn’s lovely backside to vanish. “So, this is where I come in! I get to entertain you in the meantime.”  
  
She suspected that Lúthien was no younger than she was, but she acted like such a child at times. It gave Galadriel an ache in the chest, remembering her youth in Valinor when anything could be easily turned into a cause for laughter. That was another time, another world for her.  
  
“Don’t look so serious,” Lúthien said. “Now put that scrying stone back where you found it. Nana would not be happy if you lost it. It truly is more than toy. Although, its use is limited. But a clever woman like you might be able to find one of your even more ingenious kinsmen who could make you a bigger and better one. That is probably what she had in mind. She is truly fond of you and fascinated with your skillfulness.”  
  
Galadriel was surprised. She had not thought that Lúthien had paid her any mind.  
  
“She prattles about you incessantly,” Lúthien insisted. That loosened Galadriel’s stiffness further, causing her to laugh. She could not imagine Melian chattering away like a magpie even within the privacy of her tiny family circle.  
  
Lúthien, unexpectedly perceptive for a second time, responded with a cheeky grin. “Well, incessantly for Nana! Surely you must realize that you remind her of her home. She’s mentioned that you also studied for a while in the gardens of Lórien with Irmo and Estë. You know, she will never leave Adar and me to return there, but still always thinks of herself as an exile here. Perhaps she imagines you may share that type of homesickness with her as well as your interest in certain deep arts.” There was an unasked question in the change of timbre of Lúthien’s voice and the way she raised her left eyebrow, but Galadriel did not intend to spill any secrets to her.  
  
Lúthien’s face was as animated and mutable as her mother’s was bland and impassive. Doriath’s princess betrayed an all too human passion for any number of the people, places, and things surrounding her, whereas the Queen’s depth of feeling could only be inferred from her obvious devotion to her husband and her daughter. Galadriel studied Lúthien’s face and found her to be more than simply a pleasing collection of perfect features: her heart-shaped face, with its lovely pointed chin and high cheekbones, her pale skin fresh and young as that of a newborn child, her bright eyes, and her tumbled mass of gleaming dark curls.  For the first time, Galadriel saw beyond the much lauded beauty and saw an individual, interesting and intelligent. She scolded herself for her previous insensibility.  
  
“I would like very much to go down to the creek with you today. It’s hot and will only get hotter. I have not been swimming for years. Will I need some sort of bathing dress?”  
  
“I cannot even imagine what that might be,” Lúthien said, laughing at her. “Special clothing for bathing in a forest stream is not one of our customs, but it would not surprise me at all if you told me that it was a requirement among the Golodhrim.”  
  
“No it is not! Well, not in my family anyway. I don’t need anything like that,” Galadriel answered, annoyed. “Your Doriathrim are full of strange customs and prohibitions. I simply thought I ought to ask.”  
  
“If you say so, my lady.” Lúthien smirked at her.

o0o0o0o0o

Lúthien knew a shortcut out of the caves. She took the lead, grasping Galadriel by the hand and guiding her through poorly lit, narrow back hallways, down a steep flight of rough-hewn stone stairs, and through a storage cellar behind the kitchens, stacked with row upon row of glass jars of preserved fruits and jams, amber, golden, red, and purple, catching the light of a single sconce.  
  
Finally Lúthien pushed open a heavy wooden door revealing startling sunlight. The day was glorious, hot but dry, with a sky so blue it reminded Galadriel of the brilliance of Valinor at the peak of the light of Laurelin.  
  
“It’s barely past midsummer,” Lúthien said, “with any luck we should have a few weeks of weather like this. Swimming weather. It’s easy to get accustomed to this new light.”  
  
“Race you across the meadow,” Galadriel said on an impulse, feeling a little silly, but pushing her embarrassment aside.  
  
“Go!” shouted Lúthien, taking off like an arrow released from a bow.  
  
“Why, you wicked little cheater!” Galadriel shrieked, thinking to herself that it would take more than a head start for Lúthien to beat her to the tree line. She was Indis’ granddaughter after all and longer-legged than Lúthien by far. Galadriel let Lúthien wear herself out before pulling ahead of her and beating her by a full body length. She collapsed, breathing hard, upon a fallen log just inside the shade of the forest.  
  
“Oh, you beat me soundly,” Lúthien panted. “That was a good race. I have to admit I am surprised at how fleet-footed you are. Thank you for the challenge.”  
  
Galadriel smiled, relaxed and happier than she had felt in weeks. “My pleasure entirely. And now I am heated up enough that a bath in the creek is going to feel even better.”  
  
The creek was narrow and shallow, except for a bowl-shaped depression in the rock which had created a small pool big enough for splashing about and swimming a few strokes. It was, as Lúthien had predicted, deserted when they arrived. Hot and sticky, they made short work of shedding their gowns and slippers and jumping into the water. The creek itself was surrounded by trees and mostly shaded at that point in the afternoon. They were soon cool and, without a lot of room to swim, climbed out and rested for a while on a large flat rock that caught the available sunlight.  
  
Lúthien unabashedly studied Galadriel. Never modest and always secure in her own skin, Galadriel was amused by the attention. She could not resist asking, “So, do I meet with your approval?”  
  
“May I touch you?” Lúthien ventured.  
  
 _And what might that mean?_ Galadriel wondered. “Why?”  
  
“Why not! You are so beautiful and heartsick. Perhaps you are lonely? Am I right?”  
  
“Maybe,” she answered in a watery voice, dangerously close to tears. “You surprised me; that’s all. Everything is different here.” Her words sounded ridiculous even to herself. What could Lúthien possibly think of her? Even if she felt comfortable in baring herself to this maiden she barely knew, there was nothing she could say about the huge changes in her life--the losses, the suffering, and the mistakes.  
  
“I know you have secrets. I’m not asking you to trust me with those. Just offering a little comfort.”  
  
”I barely know you,” Galadriel stammered, mortified at the strength of her emotions, at the longing for a little warmth, exactly what Lúthien had said, comfort.  
  
“Don’t!” Lúthien said. “Don’t be self-conscious. It’s only me. I’m no one important. With me it would be simply heartsease and pure sensation. Come here.”  
  
She held her arms open to Galadriel, who scooted closer and let Lúthien embrace her. Breasts against naked breasts, Lúthien felt unbelievably soft. Galadriel felt at first more confused than aroused. She was no stranger to the experience of desiring a woman, but this was different, the lies created a barrier.  
  
“You could, of course, abstain from such things until you are ready to try my cousin. But then with him it will be much more complicated, laden with all kinds of promises, negotiations, and public acknowledgements.” She wrinkled her nose up into a funny, rabbity face, which caused Galadriel to giggle.  
  
Encouraged, Lúthien apparently was all wound up and ready to explain. “Why if he loves you half as much as he thinks he does, the next thing one knows he will be pestering you about breeding little silver-haired horrors. This would be just for us. Easy and soothing. A lovely memory, I’ll bet.”  
  
Galadriel took a deep breath and leaned in to stop Lúthien’s prattle--no longer annoying, but simply unnecessary--with a short but sweet kiss, opening her lips in a promise of much more.  
  
“Actually, you convinced me with the mention of ‘heartsease’ and ‘sensation.’ But not here. Let’s go back to the palace. My room?”  
  
Lúthien looked up at Galadriel, her grey eyes wide and honest. Galadriel swallowed hard at the knowledge which she imagined that she could see there, thinking this was all a terrible risk, that simply being here was perilous.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Lúthien said. “I won’t tell anyone. Your secrets are safe with me.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Just for fun there is a sneaky little reference in this story to the creation of a scrying device by a kinswoman of Galadriel in [The Writhen Pool](http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/archive/home/viewstory.php?sid=1785&chapter=2) by pandemonium_213.


End file.
